


you are the life I needed all along

by the_ragnarok



Series: cat!Jon [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Pet Play, Rope Bondage, tummy nuzzles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Even as he's grateful to see Martin again after a few days, Jon can't relax. Martin has a few ideas.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: cat!Jon [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622008
Comments: 41
Kudos: 462





	you are the life I needed all along

**Author's Note:**

> As usual enormous thanks to Mx_Carter for beta and handholding!

It's the fourth time today that Jon has considered blowing up the lighting fixtures, every single fluorescent horror that illuminates his office. They each throb in a subtly different rhythm and they make him want to stab out his eyes with an awl. He hasn't slept very well this week.

"--the returns," says Letty, and frowns. "Jon? Is everything alright?"

Jon doesn't smile. When he's in this mood, his attempts to smile are more frightening than helpful. "Fine. I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Letty continues with an explanation of yet another way Jon's newest subordinate has managed to irrevocably fuck shit up with what little responsibility he's been given. The inadequacies of the modern workforce are truly a wonder.

After she leaves, Jon goes back to squinting at his monitor. He opens a notepad application to make a list: he is comforted to realize most of the items he has in mind are already being handled by more competent members of his team.

The list reminds him of other tasks, more important ones. He opens his phone in a moment of anxiety, relieved to see he'd texted Martin his daily hug on time. He's still not sure if it's any help, but Martin insisted it brightens his day to see it. It's the only contact they've had in three days, ever since this last crisis started.

Thinking about Martin is a mistake. It makes him want to hug himself and rock in his chair, makes him wish with furious futility for Martin's weight on him. He wants to lie under a blanket that smells like Martin.

"For God's sake," he mutters to himself, incredulous and pissed. "It hasn't even been a week." Amazing how quickly one can become spoiled.

"Hey, Jon, how are things progressing?" The voice gives Jon half a second to steel himself for the hand that lands on his shoulder. It makes his skin crawl, but it wouldn't do to upset his supervisor by, say, running away to the corner, or even standing up so fast his chair falls to the ground. 

Instead, he breathes and tries not to grit his teeth too obviously. "It's fine." He gives a brief rundown of the list he'd just made.

Craig beams and nods at him. "You know, I wanted to say, you're being remarkably calm. Thank you for keeping such a level head."

Jon looks up at him and carefully keeps his tone in check as he thanks Craig for the compliment, even if he thinks it's a ridiculous one. What was he going to do, yell? What would that achieve, except taking even more effort and hurting his ears in the process?

"And I must say, it seems like your team has it all well in hand. You've been working an awful lot of hours these past few days, why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Jon successfully translates this to, _I don't want to pay you overtime,_ but he doesn't care. He just nods, and tries for a smile anyway, then retracts it at Craig's flinch. It's better to keep scowling. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Thank you." He wonders, packing his things, how he'd come to be this person who is grateful to leave work early.

It likely doesn't hurt that outside of work he has Martin, now.

* * *

As Jon raises his hand to knock on Martin's door, it occurs to him that maybe he should have called first. Before he can do something about this, however, the door is yanked open. Martin stands there looking stunned. 

For a moment, they stare at each other wordlessly. Jon clears his throat. "Can I...?" 

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course, come in." Martin walks backwards and gestures Jon inside. "Sorry, I thought you might be a hallucination brought on by too much anatomy homework."

Jon's forehead creases. "Does anatomy often make you think about me?" In reply, Martin blushes and mutters something about Jon's ribs. Jon decides he's better off not knowing. 

Just seeing the inside of Martin's flat makes something painfully tense in Jon's chest loosen up. He breathes deeply, feeling like he'd been treading water for days and was finally allowed to come on solid land. He collapses onto the sofa with a muffled _oof_. 

Martin's laughter is nearly soundless, but Jon hears it anyway. He gives a half-hearted hiss. 

"Aw, you know I don't mean it like that," Martin says fondly. He sits down on the other end of the sofa, hand tentatively stretched out to Jon. 

Jon ignores the proffered hand in favor of crawling into Martin's lap, surprising Martin and, along the way, himself. "Well," Martin says, pleased. "Isn't this nice. May I--"

Before he can finish the sentence, Jon stretches up and headbutts Martin's hand. Martin laughs and scratches him behind the ears. Jon subsides. He lays his head on Martin's chest. Being in a space that smells like Martin is enough to warm Jon to the bone. 

Martin asks to kiss his head, and Jon permits it. Everything is fantastic. 

Until five minutes later, when Jon tenses up. 

"Jon?" The concern in Martin's voice is familiar in a way that makes Jon itch. He hates that he’s always the one needing consideration and care. 

He closes his eyes. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." 

"Yeah, no, that's not going to happen," Martin says. "Might help if you told me what it is, though."

"I don't know," Jon says, frustrated. "It just feels wrong to relax. Like any minute there'll be something else that I have to do."

Martin makes a sympathetic noise. "You need me to keep a clear path out for you?"

" _No._ " Jon flinches a little at his own vehemence. "I don't want to go. I want not to feel like I have to, or will have to any minute now." An idea occurs to him. "If we were in mine, I'd ask you to roll me up in that blanket again."

"Oh," Martin says, " _oh_ , I see. You need permission to let go. Something to reassure you you're not supposed to be anywhere or do anything." Jon nods gratefully into Martin's chest. "I have an idea, actually."

A moment passes. "Well?" Jon says, a tad impatient. "Let's hear it."

Martin shifts slightly under him. "Um. Well. I've taken a few shibari classes."

Jon pulls away and stares at him. "When?"

"I stopped just before I started going to the romps, actually. The workshops were the first kink group I could find. I didn't much like it there, too many pretentious asses, but I did like the tying up bit. Um. Which isn't to say you have to!" he rushes to add. 

"Martin. I know." Jon moves to bump their foreheads together gently. "Why are you so worried?"

Martin sighs. "I don't know much about your ex," he says the word with the distaste of someone scraping excrement off their shoe, "but tying you up and being horrible seems right up his alley."

"You're not wrong," Jon grudgingly allows. "But you - you're not him."

"I should bloody hope so!"

"So it wouldn't feel the same. I don't think it would even feel similar." Jon struggles for words. "The mood you approach this with would be completely different." He can’t quite describe what it was like, Elias imperious and precise, his eyes running down Jon’s body like knives. 

Martin draws in a breath. "Okay," he says. "Let's see how you like my ropes, alright?"

* * *

Martin's ropes are undyed hemp. Jon rubs one between his fingers. The texture is acceptable. He surreptitiously sniffs it to decree the smell acceptable as well. "Alright. How shall we do this?"

"Hm." Martin gives him a critical look. "You're fairly tired, aren't you?"

Jon huffs. "I wonder what gave you that idea," he says, rubbing at the bags under his eyes.

Martin starts to reply, thinks better of it, and says, "Any particular parts you want tied up, or left free? I won't go for anything uncomfortable."

Jon's contrary mind immediately has a suggestion. "A box tie might work," he says slowly. "Keeping my hands away. But that's rather uncomfortable under the best conditions."

With a look of mild horror, Martin says, "No, not that one, I never managed to do it properly." He considers. "But if you want your hands tied behind your back, I know another tie that should do it and not make your arms go numb while we're at it." Jon nods. "Alright. How about I tie your legs together, nothing fancy, just a double-column at the shins?" He nods again. "Lovely. Now come and stand with your back to me."

Despite his reassurances to Martin, Jon finds himself tensing when someone is standing behind him holding rope. 

Of course Martin notices. "We don't have to."

Jon takes a deep breath. "Keep going," he says. Sometimes the only way out is through.

For a moment, Martin is quiet. Then he asks to put his hand on Jon's shoulders, which Jon allows, and to kiss Jon's head, which after a short hesitation Jon reluctantly declines. "Hey," Martin says, close and soft and intimate. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to do anything you don't want. You don't need to show how brave you are; I know."

Jon lets out a sigh. "Yeah," he says, oddly dizzy. "Keep going anyway. I want you to."

"I trust you," Martin says, and lays the ropes on his wrists. Just rests them there, unmoving, letting Jon get used to the texture on his skin. 

Jon hasn't taken any clothes, and Martin hasn't asked him to. So when Martin finally draws back to make two loops and slide them over Jon's shoulders, the ropes rest over fabric, dull pressure that makes Jon's breath catch.

Martin stops. "Good?" Jon closes his eyes and nods. When Martin asks to pet his hair, Jon gives a purr; slightly rusty but the intent is there.

The next passes of the rope go quicker, Martin gaining confidence as he goes. Finally he ties Jon's forearms just above his wrists - not tying his hands together like Jon might have expected, but leaving a comfortable length of rope between them. 

"Good?" Martin says, voice soft. Jon nods. "Wonderful. Let's sit you down on the bed and do your legs."

Once Jon is sat, Martin kneels and asks permission to take off his shoes. Jon agrees. Watching Martin remove his footwear is odd, as the image before Jon falls apart into meaningless shapes. For a moment, Jon frowns, and tugs on the ropes. 

But even as Martin looks up in concern, Jon subsides. If nothing outside of Martin makes sense, Jon can't be expected to deal with any of it. Martin can watch over him for a little while, make sure everything is taken care of, that _Jon_ is taken care of. There are no voices besides Martin's, so it doesn't matter if all other sounds have blended into blurry white noise. 

When Martin asks how he's doing he can make out the words, and he can nod. That's all he needs to do right now. With some effort, he forces out, "Don't ask. Just touch me." Martin won't hurt him.

"Oh." Martin's voice rings out, hushed and reverent. "Oh, Jon."

He continues in silence, taking off Jon's socks, wrapping rope around him before Jon can start feeling the chill. The rope pulls Jon's legs together. Martin weaves and secures it, letting the unused length dangle away. Some distant corner of Jon's mind wants to bat at it. He is, however, immobilized by the depths of his trust, more thoroughly so than rope could ever achieve. 

Martin scrambles to lie beside him on the bed, and draws the blanket over him. Gathers him close. "There you are," Martin whispers. "Nothing to do now but rest, is there?"

Jon wants to answer, but words elude him. He clings to Martin and allows thought to disappear as well.

* * *

He doesn't sleep. For a too-short eternity, he just is, lying there warm and wanted. There is nothing else.

* * *

He gathers up his consciousness when he feels Martin untying him. "Martin?" His tongue feels thick in his mouth; speech, though possible, still feels unnatural. 

"I'm here." He rubs his hand against Jon's shoulder. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

_Sweetheart._ Martin's called him that before, although Jon can't remember when. He casts the question off as immaterial. "Are we done?"

"Well, I thought you might want a chance to decompress and brush your teeth before bedtime," Martin says. "Also, it's generally not a good idea to leave someone tied up for too long."

Jon opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it. "Brushing my teeth does sound like a good idea," he says, sheepish. 

Martin looks up, then, hands faltering. Jon can't make Martin's expression resolve into a known emotion or state of mind, so he asks, "What?"

"I love you," Martin says, unguarded, unselfconscious. "I really, really love you."

Just like that, words fly out the window again. Instead of speaking, Jon turns and presents his tummy, arching up slightly to make his intentions known.

"Oh," Martin says, and now Jon does know this expression. Starstruck. "Oh, really?" He waits for Jon to nod before leaning to bury his face in Jon's tummy, trembling slightly. Jon frowns and makes an inquiring noise.

Martin's voice is unsteady, when he says, "I'm good. This is good. You're incredible." Then he muffles himself in Jon's skin and flesh, presumably so he won't have to come up with any more superlatives. 

Jon doesn't do poetry, so he can't find words for the momentous, earth-shaking emotion rocking through him. He can only pet Martin's hair and ride the feeling out.


End file.
